


Keeping Friends Close

by Cusp_of_Sensitivity



Series: A Party at Madame Angel's [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode: s02e01 Keep Your Friends Close, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:58:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7645714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cusp_of_Sensitivity/pseuds/Cusp_of_Sensitivity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris, 1631. After rescuing General de Foix and arguing with Constance, d'Artagnan finds himself in need of release. So he makes his way to Madame Angel's for a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Friends Close

On the quiet street just off the Rue des Capucines, there existed an old hotel covered in vines. It was an unassuming place, the kind that you would miss if you were not looking for it, but that was how the inhabitants liked it. From an upstairs window, the owner of the hotel watched as a carriage rolled over to cobblestones.

Turning from the window, Madame Angel, nee Clelie de Villepin, went to her desk. A statuesque blonde of a certain age, with voluptuous curves encased in white damask silk, the owner of Paris’ most discreet brothel, looked over this evening’s appointments. Madame Angel offered services to men highly ranked in the diplomatic and military corps. Her girls were the among the most accomplished courtesans in the city, as well as the prettiest, all of them well-bred young ladies from the best families who had gotten into trouble. Cast out by their families, who would rather get rid of them than let gossip taint the family honor, they came to Madame Angel, who gave them a home and an income. They entertained very important men and some left to become very well-kept mistresses. There was a rumor that Madame Angel was one of their number, the wife of a marquis who died in mysterious circumstances, but the only ones who knew the truth of that were Madame and her benefactor, Captain Treville of the King’s Musketeers.

Madame Angel left her office to go to the private entrance to greet the occupant of the carriage that passed her window. The figure was hooded as it came toward her, but Madame Angel had no trouble recognizing the Dutch ambassador. She greeted him warmly, assuring him that everything had been prepared for his arrival. The primary service that she provided to her clientele, more than the erotic delights of blue blooded paramours, was privacy. The girls under Madame Angel’s roof had been raised with the understanding that you didn’t air private business in public, and the social ties that bound the upper crust together still applied even in the setting of a brothel. Because of this, Madame Angel’s clients paid a premium, but it was worth every livre. The ambassador headed up to his favorite room and Madame Angel returned to the main salon, where clients selected the girls they wanted for the evening.

Entering the salon, she smiled at the tableau in front of her. Scantily clad courtesans lounged around the room, talking and laughing, while musicians played romantic music. She signaled to Eugenie that the ambassador was waiting for her. Eugenie nodded and headed up the stairs to join him in her suite. Madame Angel spotted a new figure that had come in from the front entrance. She smiled and descended the stairs to greet the new arrival. 

Usually, Madame Angel did not accept common soldiers into her establishment, but the man speaking with her steward Gaspard was no ordinary soldier. D’artagnan was one of the four best men in the Musketeer regiment, one of the greatest fighters in France, and as a favor to Treville, Madame Angel allowed them to enjoy her hotel’s amenities at a much lower cost. Not that her girls complained. In addition to possessing very substantial cocks, the Inseparables were generous lovers, always reciprocating the pleasure their partners gave them. Madame Angel came toward the young musketeer, extending her hand to him.

“Good evening, Monsieur D’artagnan,” she said in a honey and cream voice as he bent to brush his lips against her hand.

“You are looking lovelier than ever, Madame,” D’artagnan replied gallantly.

Madame Angel smiled. “I understand that you and your friends rescued General de Foix from Spain. You are true heroes.”

D;artagnan’s returning smile was tinged with sadness. “Unfortunately, the wound he received while escaping has become infected. We don’t expect him to last through the night.”

“That’s a shame,” Madame Angel said softly. “The General was always a good friend.” Pushing away memories of younger days, she turned to D’artagnan. “What are you interested in this evening?” she asked, briskly going back to business.

D’artagnan’s eyes scanned the room. “Blonde curls,” he told her, “waist length. Slim body.”

“Juliette,” Madame Angel said to Gaspard, who nodded and went to find the chosen girl. A few minutes later, a pretty girl wearing a pale green corset over a skirt cut short in front to reveal the tops of stockings came over to them. Slim in Madame Angel’s establishment still meant healthy curves, and the breasts encased in the corset would fill D’artagnan’s hands nicely. 

“Is this what you require?” Madame Angel asked.

Feeling his cock stir, D’artagnan nodded and, taking Juliette’s proffered hand, allowed her to lead him up the stairs toward the suites. “Your name is Lucie,” he said to her.

“Of course,” she replied, and listened, nodding, as he told her what he wanted her to do. The suite they entered was decorated with green and gold print with pale blue bouquets. The counterpane on the wide bed had the same print hanging on the walls. Elaborately woven rugs in cream shades covered the parquet floor and sitting chairs faced the bed. A polished oak desk sat next to a window and a matching armoire stood nearby, underneath a large mirror that reflected the bed. It was a suite one would’ve seen in any fashionable house in Paris. Madame Angel allowed her girls to decorate their suites as they wished and each room reflected the feminine elegance that made French women the most admired in the world. 

D’artagnan closed the door behind them. Juliette went to stand by the armoire, her back toward the bed D’artagnan stood in front of. She watched in the mirror as he stripped off his clothes, leaving on only his drawers. She admired the way his lean muscles flexed as he moved with the masculine grace of a wild cat. Her mouth curled into a smile when she saw his partial arousal outlining his drawers, anticipating the pleasure they would share. His eyes met hers in the mirror.

“Undress for me,” he told her, his voice thickening with desire.

Keeping her back to him as requested, she stepped out of her chopines, then bent as she rolled her stockings down her legs one at a time. Her fingers undid the laces of her corset and she removed it, tossing it next to her shoes and stockings. She untied her skirt and let the satiny fabric slip down her legs so she stood naked before him.

D’artagnan gazed at the form in front of him, eyes roaming over the golden curls, straight back, and shapely legs. The perfectly formed buttocks brought him back to another pair that he remembered vividly from his recent adventure in Spain. That pair he had seen in the bathing chamber of the prison he and his friends had come to rescue General de Foix from. He had dragged an unconscious Spanish guard into the chamber to take his uniform, but before he could don his new clothes, the door opened and she had come in. Hiding behind a screen, he watched as she tested the heat of the water in the tub and then undressed. Desire pooled in his belly, and he felt his cock harden, pushing against the linen of his undergarments. He was ready.

“Now,” he said hoarsely.

She turned around, eyes shining with happiness. She was beautiful, just as he’d imagined she would be. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, framing her full breasts with golden curls that teased the darkened pink nipples. Her waist tapered in then flared out to form two perfectly shaped hips. D’artagnan’s eyes dropped to her nether lips, which were plumped with her desire. Madame Angel required her girls to adopt the practice of Turkish odalisques, removing all their body hair. The girls were cleaner, and the clients enjoyed the feeling of smoothness. His cock strained against his drawers now, demanding to be released from its confinement.

“Come here, Lucie.” His voice was rough with barely controlled need.

“You saved us, D’artagnan,” she said, going over to him to softly brush her lips against his. “How can I ever thank you?”

“On your knees,” he told her, indicating the bed. He watched as she climbed on the bed, positioning herself on all fours, her buttocks inviting him to delve between them. D’artagnan moved behind her and unfastened his drawers, shoving them down his hips and freeing his cock. It jutted out from his body, a thick spike pulsing as it moved toward the rounded globes. D’artagnan cupped her buttocks, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he spread them, letting the broad head of his shaft glide along the valley separating them before coming to rest at the entrance to her body. Feeling the dampness of her pussy, D’artagnan groaned and pushed his hips forward, sliding into her wet heat. He thrust deep, his hand moving around to find the tiny pearl hidden in her folds. He teased the little nub, taking satisfaction in Lucie’s cries of pleasure and her pussy tightened around him. He knew she would be a good fuck when he saw her in that bath chamber and he enjoyed being proved right. He looked down at where their bodies joined and watched as his cock plunged in and out of her wet slit in a rhythm of mounting tension, his hard length glistening with her juices. It was one of the most erotic pictures he had ever seen.

D’artagnan closed his eyes and increased the tempo of his thrusts, changing the angle to go as deep as he could. He heard Lucie cry out as her orgasm took hold, and felt her pussy squeeze him demandingly. He answered her pleas for release, slamming into her and sending hot seed gushing into her pussy. He groaned as his cock emptied, rubbing Lucie’s rounded cheeks as they pressed against him. Her walls massaged his length as her climax faded. D’artagnan felt satisfaction run through him as though he had rescued her all over again.

****

Madame Angel heard the mechanism opening the hidden door and looked over at the bookcase, smiling when she saw Captain Treville come into her office. She rose from her seat behind the desk and went over to the cabinet where she kept her good brandies. She retrieved a bottle of vintage Armagnac, pouring two glasses, and carried them over to the chaise where Treville sat down, handing him one as she perched beside him. She watched as he downed the fiery liquid in one gulp.

“De Foix?” she asked, taking the glass from his hand and setting it on the small table in front of them.

Treville nodded. “An hour ago,” he said, running a hand over his face. “All that effort to rescue him and he dies from a Spanish bullet.”

“At least he got to die a free man,” Madame Angel pointed out, “surrounded by his friends. And France’s military secrets are safe.”

Treville turned to her. "De Foix also wanted to tell Porthos the truth about what happened to his family.”

“Will you tell him?” Madame Angel asked.

“I just don’t see how stirring up the past will benefit anyone, especially Porthos,” Treville told her.

“Jean-Armand,” Madame Angel said with a sympathetic look, “delaying telling Porthos will only make things worse. He’ll take your silence to mean you have something to hide and he’ll lose trust in you.” She saw his jaw set in that stubborn way it did when he made a decision that he would stand by, come hell or high water and knew she wouldn’t get him to budge on the matter. She got up from the chaise and offered him her hand. He accepted it, rising to his feet and letting her drag him away.

“Do you remember,” Madame Angel said, leading him toward her bedchamber next door, “that time in Marseille when the three of us and Berenice went to that inn by the cathedral?”

Treville smiled. “We kept those brothers up the whole night with our carousing because our room was next to their dormitory. You and de Foix were especially loud when you went at it. You sounded like you were being impaled.”

“I was,” Madame Angel said, defending herself. “His cock was enormous. Although yours more than held its own. And now,” she closed the doors and pulled him over to the bed, “why don’t we see if we can still keep the rest of the house up tonight.”

****

On the edge of the well-appointed bed, D’artagnan sat with his legs spread wide. Between them, Lucie pumped the base of his shaft while her tongue swirled around the bloated head. His fingers sank into her blonde curls that brushed against his thighs as he held her head in place. He closed his eyes against the barrage of sensations as Lucie gently sucked his cock. 

This was exactly how he’d imagined her lips would feel like, he thought as her head moved up and down. When she kissed him on the garrison stairs, her mouth was soft and warm. She was worried about her brother and reached out to thank him for what he and the others had done for them. She pulled back, embarrassed at her forwardness, but she didn’t need to be. So he kissed her back, discovering her sweet taste, savoring it the way he would a fine wine. 

They were interrupted by the arrival of Constance, who came to find out de Foix’s condition on behalf of the Queen. Lucie returned to her brother’s bedside, while he went down to explain to Constance what had happened to the General. Things quickly devolved into an argument over her choice to stay with Bonacieux instead of leaving to make a new life with him. D’artagnan knew that he could’ve made things work, but Constance let her fear of what others would think or say get in the way of being happy. But if that was the way she wanted things, there was nothing he could do to make her change her mind. He wasn’t her husband, he wasn’t anything other than the man who loved her more than life itself, but that meant nothing in a world where one’s social standing took precedence over what the heart wanted.

Pushing aside the unwelcome thoughts, D’artagnan concentrated on his cock sliding in and out of Lucie’s soft, wet mouth. Her tongue teased him, finding every curve and crevice and caressing it until he thought he would go mad. He was considering when to let himself explode in her mouth when she pulled away.

“No,” he said as his eyes popped open.

“I want to feel you inside me,” she said, climbing on to his lap. Straddling him, she eased herself down on him, letting her pussy slowly envelop him like a warm glove. Lucie moved slowly, lifting herself up so that only his cockhead was inside her then sliding back down until he was buried to the hilt. D’artagnan leaned back on his arms as she rode him, her hips undulating as she worked herself on his length, her pert breasts bouncing in the candlelight. 

“Your cock is amazing,” she panted, picking up speed as her lower body pumped him. 

“Just be quiet and fuck me,” he ordered, thrusting up into her hot, wet pussy as hard as he could. Together they climbed higher and higher toward the peak, shuddering when the bubble finally burst and their orgasm hit them hard. D’artagnan felt the rush of seed leave his cock as Lucie’s sheath convulsed around him.

 

Later, D’artagnan smiled down at the softly sleeping form on the bed, leaning down to place a soft kiss on the smooth forehead. He turned and exited the bedchamber, silently closing the door behind him. He descended the curving marble staircase, smiling with remembered satisfaction. He moved through the empty salon, the previous occupants having retired to their suites, and sauntered toward Gaspard, still at his post near the door. He handed his payment to the steward, who quickly counted up the total and nodded in gratitude. D’artagnan nodded in return and exited the hotel, stepping out into the early morning light. As he walked through the streets of Paris back to the garrison, feeling better than ever, he let his laughter ring through the quiet lanes as a new day dawned.


End file.
